


let me take you on a little trip (if you feel so inclined)

by patientalien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Depression, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: Wherein Bruce comes to see Thor three years earlier than in canon. Thor isnt sure he's happy about it, or about the offer Bruce makes.





	let me take you on a little trip (if you feel so inclined)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citizenjess (givehimonemore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/gifts).



> So part one of an Endgame AU where Thor is yanked from New Asgard a few years earlier and how his friends help him get his groove back. 
> 
> Title from Super Sonic Ship by The Kinks

His first thought upon waking is, for some reason, of Hela. Keeping his eyes closed, groping blindly for the control that will tighten the blinds and block out the light, all that plays behind his eyelids is Hela, slithering down the length of the Great Hall, stepping around the remnants of the painted murals of Thor's memories that had merely covered up the truth. So much Thor had taken as true, had taken for granted… all lies. The thought catches in his throat and he struggles to block it out. It's a bad sign that he hasn't even gotten out of bed yet and he's already coiled with tight tension. Maybe today isn't a “getting out of bed” day. Not many of them are anymore, but Thor can't bring himself to feel guilty about it. There is nothing urgently needing his attention, nothing New Asgard requires of her disgraced king. He is rudderless, and so the thought of moving seems ridiculous. He drifts through his days, now. 

Still, he does need to get up for a few reasons, the main one being the need for the restroom. He avoids the mirror, and considers changing his clothes. His plaid pajama pants feel a little stiff, and he realizes he doesn't remember the last time he'd worn anything else. The temptation to leave them on nearly outweighs everything else, but he manages to strip down and replace them with a slightly cleaner pair of gray sweatpants and a bathrobe. The dirty clothes stay on the floor. The thought of showering makes him nauseous so he doesn't bother. 

But since he's up, well, may as well let Korg and Miek know he didn't die in his sleep, disappointing as that fact is. Thor forces a stupid smile onto his face and saunters out into the living room. “Which one of you wants to make me a bloody Mary?” he asks by way of announcing his presence, and then proceeds to start making himself a bloody Mary without waiting for a response. Maybe it's not the healthiest, but Thor is Asgardian. His father  _ invented _ mead. A little tomato juice and a lot of vodka for breakfast isn't going to kill him, unfortunately. 

“Thor?” 

Thor slowly lowers the bottle back to the table, not tearing his eyes away from the glass. Two years. It's been two years since he's heard from anyone else besides the pitiful remnants of what was once the grand kingdom of Asgard. Two years since he had used Stormbreaker to leave the garden behind, since he cemented his failure as irreversible. 

He sniffs, and jerks his head up. “Val call you, then?” he asks without preamble. It's the only explanation; no one else has bothered. He tells himself it doesn't trouble him, that he wants to be alone anyway. He's planning on ejecting his visitor soon enough, so it shouldn't bother him in the slightest that no one has seen fit to - to - 

He had tried, so hard. He had tried and he had failed.  _ Oh, I make grave mistakes all the time. Everything always seems to work out.  _ What an idiot he had been. What a foolish, naive idiot, and now everyone knows just how foolish he has always been. Just how useless. There's no reason for anyone to care about the man who destroyed the universe. 

“She did,” says Bruce Banner, who does not look like Bruce. Thor isn't completely out of touch; he has followed Banner's transformation, secretly ravenously jealous that the man and the beast have managed to make peace with one another. Banner is never alone. “This isn't like you, bud,” Banner continues, gesturing to their surroundings with huge green hands. 

Thor scowls darkly. How would Banner know what Thor is or isn't like? “It's not?” he asks with a chuckle, raising the glass to his lips, quirked into a parody of a smile. No, Banner is wrong. This is exactly like Thor, because there's no reason for him to be anything besides this, now. There's no point in any of it. “Hmm, didn't realize.” Except he knows Odin would tell him to push through, to be the king New Asgard needs. Frigga would sigh and brush back his hair and whisper reassurances. Loki would simply mock him mercilessly. Best, then, that they're all dead. Thor looks down into his glass as his stomach churns and he weighs the desire for oblivion against the threat of his rising gorge. 

“I'm sorry,” Banner says and Thor raises his eyes, warily. An apology? Why bother? He's hardly worth the trip all the way to Norway, the past two years have proven that well enough. Not once. Not one of them. He tells himself it doesn't hurt, because he doesn't need them. He never has. He was their friend by accident, because of Lo - because of what his brother had done. What Than - what he had been made to do. But now Thor has avenged it all, even if he couldn't  _ fix _ it, which means he no longer needs the Avengers, so it doesn't matter if anyone visited his new kingdom or not. The check from the Stark Relief Fund had been sufficient, a consolation prize for his failure. 

“No apology needed,” Thor says, raising his glass in a toast, because, okay, maybe he's been feeling a little sorry for himself, and a little lonely, which means he can't let on how  _ crappy _ everything is because then Bruce will leave. And Thor desperately does not want Bruce to leave, even though he also desperately wants to be alone. Seeing Bruce - Hulk? - is making little bursts of lightning go off in his brain. “S'you can see, we're all doing just  _ fantastically _ here.” He gestures to their surroundings and proceeds to suck down half of his drink. It takes much more than  _ that _ to get him where he wants to be on any given day - as mindless and thoughtless and oblivious as possible - but it's a start, and in the meantime he can replace what he's consumed with more vodka. 

Bruce's face scrunches up a little, and it's an expression that Thor has seen in varying degrees on both Bruce and Hulk. He wonders if they can talk to each other, still, or if he needs to figure out a way to make friends with yet a third version of this man. The thought of having to start all over is a little upsetting. “ _ Are _ you, though?” Bruce asks, clearly mimicking one of Thor's favorite comebacks in both word and tone. Thor isn't sure if he's being made fun of or not, and he struggles to maintain his cheery expression. 

He ends up scoffing into his glass instead. “Of course! Don't I  _ look _ okay?” He knows he doesn't, knows he has put on weight and his hair is growing back stringy and tangled. He can't remember the last time he'd trimmed his beard, nor the last time he'd taken a full shower. It's a challenge, then, to see if Bruce agrees with Thor's assessment of being fine, or if he will call Thor out on his obvious lie. Thor is ready to be annoyed with either outcome, and busies himself with his drink. 

Bruce takes a step towards him, and Thor takes a step backwards, unused to not being the one taking up the most space in here. “You look  _ sick _ , Thor,” he says, holding out his hands. “Val said you weren't taking care of yourself. I think I was expecting something different.”

Anger explodes outward and Thor flings his arms out, the vodka splashing out of his glass before he remembers, with a snapped, “Oh, sorry I'm not having a more  _ acceptable _ issue! Sorry I'm not dealing with shit by making  _ scientific breakthroughs  _ or starting a  _ family _ .” He shakes his head, turning away from Bruce as he tries to will the glass in his hand to be enough to block all of this out. It won't be. “Get out of here with that shit, I'm fine where I am.” He  _ is _ fine where he is, most of the time. The days blur together and he feels both heavy and empty at the same time, but he can go for entire weeks without thinking about anything painful now by distracting himself with the petty entertainments of this world. The Valkyrie has informed him that his drinking is a problem, but she's not one to talk so he ignores her assessment. Korg and Miek know better than to comment on any of it, and that's why they're allowed to be here whenever they want and nobody else is. Sometimes Thor just needs somebody to pretend with him. 

It doesn't seem like Bruce is interested in pretending with him, though, because his response is a quiet, “I should have come to see you sooner.” 

“No you shouldn't have,” Thor counters, and his glass is empty again. He sets it on the coffee table and grabs a beer from the ever-present bucket filled with ice beside the sofa. Right now the ice has melted and the beers are floating in a bucket full of cool water, but it really doesn't matter to Thor at all. “You had your stuff to work out. So does everybody. So do I, and I've worked it out, and I'm fine.” He manages another smile, and uses Stormbreaker as a bottle opener - really the only good use for the damn thing. Stormbreaker may have - may have separated the head from the body, but by then it was already too late. Or maybe too early. Definitely the wrong timing, anyway. 

He tries not to notice the fact Bruce is wincing at him. He tries  _ really  _ hard not to notice. “Thor,” Bruce says, and takes another step closer, holding out a hand as though Thor is a wild animal Bruce is trying to tame. “I know it's easier this way, but I gotta say - I'm worried about you, buddy.” Well, it's like he said. It  _ is _ easier this way, that's the whole idea. Thor is tired of fighting. 

“Mmm, maybe I deserve easier for a while,” Thor replies after a moment. He really doesn't want to start a fight with Banner, but he also is in no mood to defend how he has chosen to spend his time now that there's no point to any of it. “Anybody ever think of  _ that _ ?” He'd watched his mother, his father, his brother, his people die in front of him. He had destroyed his home. He had been responsible for the loss of half all life in the universe. Surely he deserves a little rest after all of that. 

He drinks his beer while Bruce grapples with that for a minute or two. “I'm not saying you don't deserve a break,” he says, carefully. “I'm just saying that… this sort of break you're taking? Doesn't seem very healthy.” 

Thor works his jaw as he tries to come up with a response that doesn't involve punching Bruce in the face, mostly because he doesn't really want to see how much of the Hulk's strength has been retained. His little seaside shack suffers enough from his solitary rages, it probably wouldn't survive a full-on brawl. He isn't even certain why he's so angry about Bruce's assessment. He  _ knows _ Bruce is right, has been  _ waiting  _ for someone to  _ notice _ . But now that someone has, now that Valkyrie has wrangled Bruce into this, Thor wants nothing to do with it. 

“Not everything is always how it seems,” he counters finally. Bruce doesn't know what he's talking about. He's been here, what, five minutes? And already he thinks he knows what Thor's day to day life is like? Okay, to be fair, Thor's entire plan for today had been to get stupidly drunk, but he had also intended to hang out with Korg and Miek while he did it, and isn't socializing healthy? He's furious with himself for being so unsettled by Bruce's presence. Hadn't he  _ just  _ been complaining to himself about loneliness? What is  _ wrong  _ with him? 

Bruce frowns a little. “I guess,” he says, cautious, and then seems to make a decision. Thor eyes him warily over the mouth of the beer bottle, finishing it off before deciding that he doesn't feel like any more beer. Today is definitely a vodka day. He picks his glass back up from the coffee table, then the vodka bottle, and upends the bottle into the glass. His brother always did scold him for being uncouth; using a glass is a good thing. It proves he is still just fine. “Really?” Bruce asks, incredulously.

Thor decides it's easier to play dumb than open up, because if he opens up he might never be able to close again. He might be torn asunder by the truth of how he feels, and he doesn't want to feel  _ anything _ anymore. Why is that so hard for people to understand? “Sorry, did you want one?” he asks. 

“Uh, no,” Bruce replies. They stand there, staring at each other, for a long time, and Thor finally decides to throw the green guy a bone, because the level in his glass has gone down and his mind is finally starting to settle. He's still not where he wants to be, but he's closer. He's close enough to play nice.

“Here,” he says, shoving a pile of dirty laundry off the extra chair and gesturing for Bruce to sit. Korg and Miek are on the sofa, but are so engrossed in their game that Thor and Bruce might as well not even be in the room. “So, um, uh, how's everybody?” He isn't sure he wants to know, really, because it kind of makes his chest hurt to think about how things  _ used  _ to be. If he hadn't screwed it all up - nope, not going there.

Bruce looks a little confused at Thor's abrupt change in demeanor, but Thor can't bring himself to care. The frustration of not knowing if he wants to be alone or if he wants to spend time with his friend is seeping away on the tide of alcohol he is doing his best to flood his bloodstream with, and that in and of itself makes him feel better. See? How could it be a problem, if it makes him feel better? If it makes him able to tolerate a visit from a friend without wanting to crawl out of his skin? Luckily, Bruce doesn't seem to want to push too hard anymore, at least for the moment.

“Oh, you know, best they can be,” he says. “Nat and Steve are holding down the fort, Tony and Pepper just had a baby.” Thor looks down into his glass, struggling to bring up any sense of pleasure at the news. There have been a few babies born in New Asgard since the remaining refugees arrived, but Thor doesn't really know how many, or to whom. Valkyrie had said at least two of them were named after  _ him,  _ and he assumes it's some kind of cruel joke. The only consolation he can come up with is that his people won't go extinct for another generation or two. And hopefully he'll be long gone by then, so nobody can blame him for the failure. 

“Good, good,” he says, nodding jerkily, finding difficulty in meeting Bruce's gaze unless he's actively emptying his glass. “That's good,” he reiterates, because it is good. It's good that his friends are doing well, that Stark and Pepper Potts have managed to make a life together out of the tragedy. It's good that he's doing well too, with a slowly growing kingdom that he doesn't actually have to rule, and nothing but time on his hands. 

“I'm sure they'd be glad to see you,” Bruce ventures cautiously, leaning forward in the chair and clasping his hands together against his knees. “If you wanted to come visit for a while.” 

Thor considers it, he really does. He considers it all the way to the bottom of his drink and halfway through the next. By that time, he is almost exactly where he wants to be, which makes it much easier to laugh incredulously and say, “Why? I'm perfectly - I'm happy here.” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.  _ He _ wouldn't want him to come visit, if he were any of his old teammates. Too much of a reminder, too much noise in his head. No, he doesn't belong back there. This, this is where he belongs. 

“Because we care about you,” Bruce pushes and Thor rolls his eyes back, blinking rapidly because he really isn't interested in trying to explain why they're filled with tears. “And I know you're not okay right now.” He leans forward a little further and Thor shifts uncomfortably in his own chair. 

“I- I am  _ totally _ okay,” he protests weakly. Why won't anyone just leave him alone? Except, they had. They had and that had hurt, so why is he so upset now that Bruce is here, trying to get him to leave, trying to get him to  _ admit _ anything? “I've got everything I need, right here.” He does, and he really doesn't need anything else. His purpose, for all that that's worth, has been fulfilled. All that's left is - everything that's left, which isn't much but on most days, it's enough. 

“You're not okay,” Bruce repeats himself, “and that's okay. Let us  _ help _ you, Thor.” He holds out a huge hand, as if Thor is the one who needs the lullaby.  _ The sun's getting real low. _ “You don't need to do this alone. What Thanos did -”

Thor's brain stutters to a stop, and he's only vaguely aware of Korg's hulking mass rising from the sofa as he himself gets to his feet. His grip on the glass tightens enough that it splinters, blood and vodka dripping from clenched fingers onto the floor. “Don't,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears, “you say that name.” He takes a lurching step forward, grabbing Bruce by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up. Bruce might be bigger than him, now, but Thor is still an Asgardian. He is still, physically at least, the strongest Avenger. Or he was, before he failed. Before Thanos  _ killed his brother _ . Before half of all life snapped away. 

“Aw, yeah, we don't say that name in here, mate,” he hears Korg say, and he exhales shakily, grateful to his friend. His  _ real _ friend, who knows what is and isn't a good thing to talk about, who knows that all Thor wants to do is pass the time. His grip on Banner tightens as his eye fills with tears and the room spins a little. 

He can barely make out the grimace on Bruce's face as he says, very calmly, “Please take your hand off me.” Thor finds he can't, his fingers won't open, and his free hand is still dripping blood. He lets out a pathetic noise that might be a sob, all higher brain functions down for the count as he replays it  _ over and over and over _ . The swing of Stormbreaker. The thump of Thanos’ head hitting the floor. And nothing to be gained from it at all. Nothing at all. “Thor.” Bruce's voice is a little more firm now, but Thor still can't quite figure out how to respond. “Thor, I'm serious.” He feels two hands wrap around his one and feels his fingers being slowly tugged open and away from Bruce's throat. 

He drops his arm and staggers back a couple of steps into Korg's chest. When did he become the smallest person in the room, he wonders, hysteria prickling at the edges of his awareness. When he had failed, he tells himself. That was the last time he'd felt so small. When he had been bound in debris and helpless to watch as that  _ giant purple nutsack  _ ordered Heimdall's demise, as he  _ throttled  _ the life out of his brother. As the ship disintegrated around them. If only Thor had disintegrated too. “You need  _ help _ , Thor,” Bruce is saying quietly, calmly. Truly he has made enormous progress, because if he hadn't, Thor is pretty sure he would be flattened into the floor right now. He wishes that were the case. 

The whining noise he hears couldn't possibly be coming from  _ him _ , could it? He shakes his head frantically, trying to get away from what suddenly feels like far too many people in far too small a space. His chest aches and he can feel his heart slamming against his ribcage and it  _ hurts _ , it  _ hurts _ , it  _ hurts.  _ He can't  _ breathe _ . “Thor?” His vision tunnels and he clutches at his chest, struggling for air. “Thor? Buddy? Can you hear me?” He can't breathe. Is this how his brother felt at the end? Is this what he had suffered, his air slowly and inexorably cut off? Thor feels a sharp pain in his knees and realizes distantly that he has dropped to the floor. 

There's a hand on his back, and one on his chest, and another petting his hair. “Hey, bro, you're okay,” comes Korg's voice by his ear. “Gotta do that deep breathing, right?” Right, the breathing exercises, because this is far from the first time Thor has found himself on the floor, chest heaving as he struggles to get control of himself. 

“Yeah,” agrees Bruce's voice. “Just breathe in slowly…” Thor tries, his breath rasping and shuddery. “Okay, hold it…” Thor squeezes his eyes closed, humiliated beyond belief that there are now additional witnesses to this, to just how badly he's actually handling everything. “Now let it out slowly. Good.” He knows in the back of his mind that Banner himself would never judge this. Knows in the back of his mind that Banner had been in a state of panic most of the time they'd been on Sakaar, after he'd become himself again. He  _ knows _ Bruce knows how this feels, and still he feels weak. Lesser. 

Bruce gets him to repeat the process multiple times until it finally feels like he's getting enough air, like his heart isn't about to burst in his chest, like the weight of his grief and pain is no longer threatening to crush him. He wipes his tears away and reaches for the vodka. “Hey,” Bruce says, putting a hand over Thor's. “That's enough for now, I think.” 

Thor wants to throw a tantrum about that, but he doesn't have the energy. He lets his hand drop, and lets Bruce and Korg help him back to his feet. “Come on, Thor. Come back to the Compound with me, just for a little while,” Bruce urges. “Steve runs a support group, Nat sends us on missions, it'll be good for you.” He gestures to Thor's companions. “Korg and Miek are welcome to come too.”

A support group? Missions? “Sounds like a lot of work,” Thor says, but truthfully - truthfully it doesn't sound half bad. The idea of having a purpose, a path, again is somewhat appealing, though he would still far prefer to take a nap at the moment, and he doesn't really want to be beholden to any rules the group might come up with for him. So what to do? “I guess I could come for a couple days.” There, that gives him an easy escape route if it turns out to be intolerable. He'll bring Stormbreaker so he can just Bifrost himself back here if it gets to be… too much. He's already feeling nervous about being around his old teammates again, but surely there will be alcohol there, and that will help the anxiety immensely. Sure, Bruce might not like it, and Thor decides he really will try to moderate his consumption around the others - it's bad enough Bruce has a hint of it, now, but nobody could possibly argue with a drink or two here and there. 

Yeah, this might actually turn out okay. He's terrified, and uncertain, and ready to back out even as he's shoving a few changes of pajamas and a small collection of bottles into a duffle bag. He's tempted to down one right now, before he heads back to the life he thought he had left behind, but then he thinks about Bruce, waiting for him, and it stays his hand. For now, he assures himself. He can't just keep wallowing here, tempting as the prospect is. But he has an out, he has a plan to come home when he wants to. It will be fine. 

Hefting Stormbreaker from her spot leaning against the hearth - this is the first time he's picked it up in  _ months _ \- he saunters back to Bruce. “You coming?” he grunts at Korg and Miek. 

“Nah, bro, thanks though!” Korg chirps with a pleasant wave. “Have fun!” 

Fun, Thor thinks, is not what he is really expecting from this endeavor, but… well, maybe it might be. It might actually be okay, and if it isn't he can leave. It might be okay. And if this might be okay, maybe he'll be okay too. 

“Let's go,” he says to Bruce, and opens the Bifrost. 

  
  
  



End file.
